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[Fitz had intended to send this as a private message to Dr. Foster, but a sudden onset of dizziness and blurred vision meant a text message was out of the question. Video would have to do. He'd remembered to set the privacy settings, hadn't he? Probably.

He addresses the network with a bleary expression, glassy eyes rolling up into his head until he blinks to train them back into place. His skin is an unhealthy pallor, ghastly white with a rash of dark splotches tainting the deep bags under his eyes.]

Doctor Foster... I, ah... The samples from the tunnels? I've been performing analyses, and I've reason to suspect that they aren't quite safe... They react terribly to human DNA samples. It's... I'm not a strong enough biologist to reach a proper conclusion, but some sort of degeneration appears to be taking place.

I also think it might be in our best interests to quarantine off the remaining sediment. The dust has been... It's...

[He grimaces and clenches his jaw, bowing his head for a long moment. He doesn't finish his thought, jumping over to a different one instead.]

Would advise against further reconnaissance trips to the tunnels. At least until we've had more time to study.

[He clumsily gropes along the keyboard next. One of those button presses probably manages to post it. Probably.]

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[Those who thought the darkness was limited to the subterranean levels of Wonderland might be dismayed by a certain scientist's decision to bring a cursed object onto a higher level. Fitz, believing fully that "cursed objects" were silly superstitions, saw nothing wrong with the idea of bringing it topside for testing and discovery. That was before the illness struck. Now, there's just pain. Pain and... some kind of faint melody. It's too distant to make out yet, a soft buzzing at the edge of his thoughts.

After leaving his message, he abandons the lab entirely, with the intent to return to his room on the fourth floor and sleep until the illness breaks on its own. He's underestimated the frequent onsets of mystical pain, though. He'll most likely be a huddled lump of a person curled against a hallway wall, shivering despite a critically high fever.

He'll still argue any "taint" or "curse" talk, though. It's probably nothing that antibiotics can't cure.]

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Occupational hazard sometimes. It was my turn anyway.

[He and Simmons could think their way out of this. They've solved alien bioterrorism before. But Simmons isn't here now.

He's thoroughly permissive as she hooks him into a drip and fusses over his wellbeing. He imagines that this much fuss isn't because she's got good news.]

We brought the sample up here yesterday. Started working with it this morning.

. . . okay then.

[She takes and releases a deep breath, handing over the digital thermometer for him to put under his tongue. Small dignities, at least.]

Well, to be honest? Assuming this is an infection, you're looking pretty septic. Hopefully the fluids help your blood pressure, but if the onset from exposure was this quick, I don't want to wait for a full study on whatever this thing is before we try something to treat it. I can put you on broad-spectrum antibiotics for now while I look at that sample, and if your fever's dangerously high there's always paracetamol or ibuprofen. But that would be my starting point. Does that sound okay to you?

_{[Oh boy.]}

This can't be happening... Did you really bring things riddled with the taint above ground to try and study them?

_{[Here stands at least one Grey Warden grimacing into his camera.

Inwardly, he resists the urge to put his head in his hands at how unbelievably bad the people of Wonderland are at self-preservation. Though he'd been spreading what warnings about the darkspawn he could, he understands it isn't feasible to educate people on hundreds of years of history in a few days. Still, Anders would think "don't go into the dangerous caves with the contagious sickness" would be rather obvious in the long run.]}

You poor bastard.

_{[The pitying observations slips out unthinkingly. He knows that pale, sickly look and it never ends well.]}

( The background shows that Miranda's still in the tunnels - and surrounded by all of that black substance he's talking about )

How do they react?

Wonderful. Sepsis is exactly what I'd been hoping to hear today.

[He accepts the thermometer into his mouth with a sigh, though he rolls it more than he should. He's not very good at being a patient, honestly.]

Meds are fine, but I'm not sure you ought to get involved with the sample just yet. We've not confirmed that skin contact is the trigger. If it's radiation-based, that suit won't do anything for you.

[She lets him say his piece, then waits for the thermometer to beep before holding out her hand to take it back and see just how high his temperature is.]

I'll dig a Geiger counter out of the closet and take my chances. But right now your symptoms aren't screaming radiation poising to me. [And . . . right. That is a high fever. She digs out a packet of ibuprofen and a bottle of water, cracking open the cap before passing both to him.]

If this is infectious? We need a doctor with the right kind of experience out ahead of the curve before more cases crop up. If it's not . . . ? I do what I can. Maybe whoever does cure this gets some use of me as a second case. [Her quirk of a smile is hidden behind her mask, but a hint of it reaches her eyes anyway.] We get a couple of deaths here. This is worth one of them, easy.

Edited 2016-05-09 20:58 (UTC)

You brought tainted materials into the mansion?

[ leliana bites her tongue around the words how foolish. they are too harsh for this moment, and won't help at all. ]

There is no cure for the Blight. Many have tried--are still trying to find a cure and haven't succeeded. It is possible the Grey Wardens here could accept you into their ranks, but it is a temporary stopgap. I'm sorry, but the taint will eventually kill you.

[Oh, good. Superstition. That's always a conversation worth having.]

We brought underground samples from the tunnel system in the interest of uncovering a means of escape. This illness is a temporary setback.

[He dissolves into a fit of coughs soon afterward, though.]

[At least she's taking a scholarly interest in his materials instead of just shaming him for some arbitrary superstition.]

Seems to be some kind of... Corrosion to the human sample. It's most likely not safe to touch. Do take care about covering yourself properly.

I brought a sample into the mansion for study.

[He had no idea it would send a pack of apparent cultists so far out of shape.]

If there's a disease, then there must be a cure. [--and there's the word again.] Perhaps those "Grey Wardens" might be able to offer more of a constructive explanation.

At least you've got realistic expectations...

[He accepts the water and medicine, but pauses without taking them. Instead, he stares absently in a random direction.]

That radio's getting a bit loud, though. Would you mind turning it down?

Those tunnels don't lead anywhere except into darkspawn warrens even in the real world.

_{[Anders could have told him a pale imitation of them conjured up in Wonderland's backyard definitely isn't going to get anyone anywhere. The only thing this accomplishes is spreading the taint on the surface more quickly. So thanks for that, Fitz. Well done.

Pointing out a man's mistakes while he's on the verge of becoming a ghoul is a bit crass, however. He releases a barely audible sigh instead.]}

"Temporary," yes... _{[Hahaha... ha...]} Do you have anyone with you? This'll get worse before it gets better, I'm afraid. It's called the Blight sickness.

_{[And it's fatal. But though the taint might kill him, Wonderland has the power to revive him. Maybe. Possibly.]}

Did you not think to ask people who know about this before studying it? We could tell you much.

[ leliana huffs quietly. ]

What a lovely world you must be from, where every disease possible has a cure. But the Blight is not a disease. I know of no disease that can taint things that aren't living.

[Tinnitus. Or something like it. Tinnitus and a high fever and a cardiovascular system she's doing her best to keep from slipping into shock. Maxine's voice goes softer and she reaches out to put a gloved hand on his arm, trying to pull his attention back.]

There's no radio playing, Fitz.

[She gives a little squeeze, an effort at encouragement she knows will only ring hollow in words.]

Take the ibuprofen, okay? I'm going to finish taking a look at you and recommend you get some sleep.

Sure there is. Someone's singing.

[He blinks slowly, glancing back to her when she touches him. The glassy look in his eyes hasn't gotten any better.]

Take the... [His stare shifts down again; he finally swallows the pills after a soft "oh."]

Oh jeez, you're not lookin' so hot. [ Yes, that is the perfect opening statement to offer to strangers. ] Y-you might wanna back off from the science stuff all the way, uh, until this whole thing blows over, you know? Or, or get someone to take those samples back underground and all.

If they were brought here from your world, then there's a high chance that they lead somewhere wholly different. We can't know if we don't try.

[Rubbish superstitions, the lost of them. It's just a means of making people too frightened to ask questions.]

How much worse? And in what ways? It might be beneficial to know what form these symptoms will take.

There you go.

[She pats his arm, and the rest of the exam passes in relative quiet, murmured instructions to breathe deep, look forward, say aaa punctuating the quiet of Maxine working. Her mind's already on overdrive, building a bloated differential that runs the gamut from toxin exposure through infectious causes to some sort of parasitic process. A handful of tubes of blood round out the data taken before she leaves him be just long enough to find the closet. She doesn't need much from it, just a narrow futon-esque mattress and some sheets, which she lays out on the floor near the chair.]

There we go. Not exactly the Hilton, but it's somewhere to sleep, anyway. [The IV's still going, but she unhooks it temporarily, just in the interest of him not pulling it loose while he moves.] How's that radio doing, Fitz?

Had there been this much discussion earlier, I might have. There seems to be a lot of lore surrounding the substance.

[They could certainly go through it now, but he's much less inclined to listen at this point. It already feels like his brain is too big for his skull.]

There are several afflictions on my world that can. Necrosis can come from bacteria, or fungal infections. There are any number of causes for something like what you describe.

But in the interest of saving time, is there anything you think I ought to know aside from that I'll be dead soon?

[he tries to smile weakly.]

No.. I suppose I'm not. Sorry to trouble you with it. I'd thought I was sending something less publicly.

The way things are looking, "the science stuff" might be the only solution. But I might sign myself up for a week off following this.

Thanks for worrying.

[As she completes the exam, he grows progressively less responsive. The fluids are settling his heartrate, but the fever is still raging at full force. He sits in a limp slump, head lolling bonelessly to his right.

When she speaks to him directly, he doesn't respond at all. His chest still rises and falls with semi-regular breaths, but she might as well have spoken in Greek, for all the communication that was accomplished.]

Fitz? [Her fingers are on his wrist, but the reassurance of a palpable pulse isn't much, when she's watched him go from ill-but-conversant to unresponsive inside of an hour. She gives him a shake, knuckling into the bony point of his shoulder. Dirty trick, sure, but if he wakes up to yell at her she'll be just fine with that.] Leo Fitz, do you hear me?

[The words do nothing, but the pain sends him curling in on himself, hissing as he lets out a breath. It slowly transitions into a quiet whimper.]

It hurts...

[The "it" is unclear. That's probably because the pain is coming from absolutely everywhere.]

[Maxine releases a slow breath, nodding for the benefit of absolutely no one as she takes his arms and moves with the curl. It sort of just . . . rolls him onto the mattress with her easing him down, and she shushes, more of less letting him settle from there.]

Sorry I had to do that. [She pulls the chair around and takes up the end of the bag, hooking it up to his arm again with a practised twist.] What hurts?

[He doesn't resist being directed onto the mattress, but he maintains an increasingly fetal position. He claws at the rashlike blotches on his cheeks, moaning.]

All of it.

[It's far less self-aware than he'd been an hour ago, most likely giving her less of an actual answer.]

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